Gone for Soldiers

  They moved quietly. The daylight was fading, and he could hear Beauregard behind him, slapping at the bugs that swarmed over them from the deep brush. The trail turned a blind curve, and Lee stepped past a palmetto, his coat slapping the stiff green fronds. In front of him he saw a soldier facing him, pointing a pistol at his head.

  “Who goes there?”

  Lee ducked, heard Beauregard shout, “Friends! Officers!”

  Lee could see the man’s face, his wide, panicked eyes. The barrel of the pistol aimed past Lee, then jerked back toward him again. Suddenly there was a bright flash, a deafening sound, only a few feet from Lee’s face, and the soldier was hidden by the cloud of white smoke. Lee stood up straight, felt his heart pounding. The smoke slid away into the brush, while the boy stood staring at them, his face a map of raw horror. Lee put his hand up, said, “It’s all right. We’re not hit.”

  Behind him, Beauregard was looking down, feeling his chest, then rubbing his hand along the blue coat. “You missed. Thank God.”

  The soldier dropped the pistol, stared at the two officers for a moment, then suddenly began to cry. Behind the man, along the trail, more men appeared, sentries, the men who guarded the army against the guerrillas. Now a sergeant appeared, pushed the boy aside, saw the pistol on the ground, looked at Lee, said, “What? Anyone hurt? Damn! I knew it. He’s too green for this!”

  Lee held up his hand. “No, we’re all right. He was just … a bit jumpy. We were too quiet, surprised him.”

  The sergeant removed his hat, said, “Sir, this will be reported to my commander. It is inexcusable. Might I ask, sir, your names? For the report.”

  Lee looked at the boy, who was sobbing now, thought, This will ruin him, he’ll never be a soldier after this.

  “I am Captain Lee, this is Lieutenant Beauregard, of the general staff.”

  The sergeant turned, looked at the boy, the anger spilling over. “You hear that? You damned near killed … by Jesus, you damned near killed General Scott’s staff! What’s the matter with you?”

  Lee moved closer to the man. “It’s all right, Sergeant. No harm done. File your report as required. But, it was an accident. Could have happened anywhere.”

  The sergeant looked at Lee, pulled a paper from his pocket, a small stub of pencil. He looked at Lee’s coat, then leaned his head to the side, stared under Lee’s shoulder. “Uh, appears, sir, he didn’t exactly miss.”

  Lee looked down, raised his arm, saw a black rip in his coat. He felt his breath suddenly punched away, then pulled open the coat, saw the bullet had not penetrated. He let out a deep breath, blessed relief, thought, I didn’t feel it … but that was very close. Thank God.

  Beauregard stood beside him, leaned close, looked at the ripped cloth, said, “Well, now, Captain Lee, another inch or so and your service might have ended right here.”

  * * *

  MOST OF THE ARTILLERY WAS IN PLACE, GUN CREWS WAITING impatiently for the order to begin the great assault. The waiting meant that the other war would continue awhile longer, the fight against the small creatures that kept up their relentless assault on their new visitors. Most of the men had never seen some of these strange and exotic pests: scorpions, snakes, a tiny black ant with an amazing bite, outdone only by the torture from the yellow flies, or worse, huge black horseflies. And of course, there were the fleas.

  Lee took his place beside Totten, while his commander, the old engineer, inspected Lee’s work, examining the placement of the guns. Lee had been nervous about this at first, wondered if the gun pits were deep enough, if the angle of fire was correct. Under other circumstances, Totten was his friend, and the two of them often enjoyed the quiet social scene. But the duty of the engineers was very different now. In Mexico, Totten was all business, brought the keen eye of a senior commander to the work of his engineers. Lee could not help feeling nervous, intimidated, as he watched Totten’s quiet inspection. He thought of West Point, recalled his nervousness, the intolerance he and his superiors had for any mistake. He tried to push those recollections away, but felt as though he was again very young, very much under the eye of someone who would find any fault. Totten was no longer the friendly face, but the no-nonsense engineer and the man Scott would hold responsible for the success of his plan. Lee had already begun to accept that their relationship might never be as it was before, that this duty would change all of them, the relationships, the social informality. Now, it was only about doing the job, and doing it right.

  Some of the guns were aiming nearly perpendicular to the big wall, others were pointed higher, so they would launch their shells in a high arc. Totten had still said nothing, but stopped now, stepped down into a gun pit. The crew stood respectfully aside. Lee tried to follow Totten’s gaze, tried to visualize the trajectory of the shell. Totten leaned down, looked along the barrel of the twelve-pound gun, said, “Too high.”

  He looked up at Lee then, the message clear in the expression, and Lee said, “Yes, sir. It will be corrected, sir.”

  Beyond Totten, Lee saw an officer approaching quickly, then another, reacting to the sudden presence of the chief engineer. The first man was clearly in command, a familiar face Lee had met while placing his battery. The man was older, gray hair peeking out from beneath his hat. He glanced unsmiling at Lee, spoke to Totten.

  “Excuse me, Colonel. Captain Francis Taylor, Company K. These are my guns. Is there a problem, sir?”

  Totten appraised Taylor, said, “Are you certain of your aim, Captain?”

  Taylor glanced at Lee again. The other officer moved up beside Taylor, and Lee noticed another young man. His angular face flushed, he glared fiercely at Totten. Lee thought, Careful, young man, don’t be too defensive.

  The younger officer said, “Pardon me, Colonel, but I intend that these guns do more than bounce their shells off a stone wall. They’re not big enough to do much good anyway. We figured …” He paused, looked up at Lee. “We figured it would do the most good to drop these shells behind the wall. Should cause much more damage to the enemy. Sir.”

  The man had spoken with a slow, deliberate drawl. Lee had heard the accent before, thought, Virginia, the mountains.

  Totten was eyeing the young man. “All right, young lieutenant. If Captain Lee agrees with your strategy, then I concur.”

  Totten climbed out of the pit, straightened his uniform, said to Taylor, “I admire confidence, Captain. Let’s put it to work.”

  Totten turned close to Lee, said quietly, “As you were, Captain. Give me a moment.”

  Totten moved on, and Lee saw his hand go up as Totten engaged in a brief reunion with an older officer, a man Lee did not know. Lee backed away from the guns.

  Taylor motioned to the young lieutenant, said to Lee, “Captain, forgive the lack of subtlety of my young lieutenant. Have you made the acquaintance? He’s another Virginian.”

  Lee looked at the young man, who seemed suddenly self-conscious. He held Lee’s gaze briefly before his sharp blue eyes darted away. Lee held out a hand, said, “He handled himself well, Captain. Lieutenant, I’m Captain Lee.”

  The young man hesitated a moment, then took Lee’s hand briefly, withdrew his hand quickly. “Jackson, sir. Thomas Jackson.”

  The blue eyes again glanced past Lee. The man backed slowly away, and Lee saw a small grimace of discomfort on his face, thought, He is not accustomed to being sociable. It’s apparent he would rather be with his guns than making small talk with a senior officer.

  Lee could see Totten approaching again, said, “A pleasure, Mr. Jackson. When the time comes, I’m sure you will make good use of these guns.”

  Abruptly, Jackson straightened, stood stiffly, said, “We’re waiting for the order, sir. We just want a chance to fight. One good fight.”

  Lee noticed Totten moving farther along the gun pits and beckoned to him. “Excuse me, gentlemen.” He quickly moved toward Totten, who was already down in another gun pit, the inspection continuing. Lee glanced back at the two officers, thought, S
trange comment. He shall get his fight. I hope it’s to his liking.

  MARCH TWENTY-FIRST

  “Our guns aren’t big enough! If we’re going to knock those walls down, we need something else besides these field guns.” Scott paused now, looked around the group of men, each looking to the man beside him, hoping someone had an answer Scott would approve of.

  Lee sat beside Totten, the chairs arranged in a semicircle in the hard sand. Scott sat at a small field desk, at the mouth of his tent, his round face reflected by the light from a great fire. Lee glanced in the direction of the bright light. He thought it was a bad idea, providing so large a target for Mexican cannon, and he wondered how obvious their position would be with the night broken by such a large ball of light. Scott had not seemed concerned, had insisted two aides stay close to the fire and keep it high, the heat rolling toward the tent, in hopes of keeping the tormenting insects at bay. Lee realized now that across the camps of the men there were more fires, some nearly as large as this one. If they were all targets for anxious gunners in Vera Cruz, at least no one could tell that close to this one was most of the command of the entire American army.

  He looked around the circle of men, saw Worth and Patterson, and straight across from him, the craggy frown of General Twiggs.

  Twiggs stared at the ground near Lee’s feet before saying, “We don’t need guns. We just need men. Take it to ’em. The Mexicans can’t stand up to this army. Full out assault.”

  Lee looked at Scott, saw the deepening red in his face. Scott looked around the circle. He focused on General Pillow. “Anyone else agree with General Twiggs? Anyone else feel we should just march right up to those walls? Anyone have some information about the enemy’s eagerness to surrender that I am not aware of?”

  Lee watched Pillow, who seemed to wilt under Scott’s glare. Pillow glanced to the side, looked at Worth, who said, “They can’t win. Surely General Morales understands that. If we show them we’re willing to launch an all-out assault, he’ll give up the city.”

  Scott leaned back, rubbed a heavy hand across tired red eyes, and slumped in the chair. He took a long deep breath, before saying quietly, “It’ll look good in the papers too. Lots of good old man-to-man fighting, blood in the streets, our boys giving it their all, for the Cause. And then, we can explain to the American people just why we gave them a such a butcher bill. or rather, the President would make sure I explained it.”

  Scott looked around the circle again, said, “Gentlemen, you ever hear of saving face? Everything I have learned about the Mexicans tells me that coming out of a fight with their honor intact is more important than who won the damned fight. They’ll surrender the city, and that big damned fort, when it’s the right time, and it will have very little to do with how much blood we shed. Morales isn’t about to surrender because he’s scared of our strength. He can’t show he’s scared at all. He’d disgrace himself.” Scott shook his head. “This is a foreign country, gentlemen, a foreign culture. We’re not fighting the British here, people like us, people who see things the way we do. War is about knowing your enemy. It is not necessary to spill blood, our blood, if we can defeat Morales by letting him keep his honor.”

  Lee looked at Worth, watched a patronizing sneer spreading across his face. Worth cleared his throat and said, “Excuse me, sir, but if we defeat Morales, how does he keep his honor? Isn’t losing a disgrace? Hard to imagine anyone saving face when he’s just had his city occupied. Or are we not planning to occupy Vera Cruz?”

  Scott closed his eyes briefly. Lee felt a sudden frustration, thought, Surely he has a plan. Why do they show such disrespect?

  Twiggs leaned forward now, still staring at the ground, and said, “So, General Scott, do you have an alternative plan? How do we convince the enemy to surrender without fighting him?”

  Scott glanced at Lee, said, “We are already in position for a siege. I believe it’s the best plan.”

  Twiggs grunted. “A siege!”

  There were muttered comments from the commanders, a small laugh from Worth, who said, “Forgive me, General, but a siege might take a while. My understanding is … we don’t have that luxury.”

  Scott nodded. “Yes, General, point well taken. We have three, maybe four weeks before the fever season hits. It is crucial we move inland, gain altitude before then.”

  As was his custom, Pillow stood to speak. Lee looked at the fresh uniform, always neat, as though the small thick-waisted man was always dressed for a formal review. Lee could see him preparing, a brief strut, a quick turn, all designed to capture everyone’s attention.

  “General Scott, am I to understand that your plan is to effect a siege on Vera Cruz, defeat the enemy therein, gather this army for a bold move inland, all before the el vomito destroys this army?” He paused for dramatic effect. “Ambitious, to say the least.”

  Scott noted Pillow’s arrogance with grim silence, and Lee could see it plainly now, what they all knew from the beginning. Gideon Pillow was President Polk’s law partner, was commanding troops despite having no great experience other than an oily skill at political maneuvering. Lee watched Scott, thought, Of course, he thinks Pillow is here to spy on him, a conduit straight to the President. And he’s probably right.

  Lee felt his own frustration growing, had begun to understand Scott’s anger. He shifted slightly, began to raise his hand, hesitated, and Totten leaned close, whispered, “Speak up, Captain.”

  Lee stood, glanced at the faces of the others, saw Scott now watching him, and Scott said, “Yes, Captain? Ideas or complaints?”

  There was complete silence until Lee said, “Sir, I believe the siege can be accomplished in short order. It is understood now that the army’s guns are not large enough to inflict damage on the walls of the city, and I believe Uloa is stronger still. However … we have another resource.”

  Scott was watching him intently, nodded, a silent command, Continue.

  “If we could call on the navy … make use of their guns. On shipboard I saw cannon as large as sixty-four pounders. Those would be more than adequate to inflict extreme damage on Vera Cruz.”

  Worth leaned forward, said, “Captain Lee, we have already considered at length a naval assault against the city. Perhaps you were not present. The guns of Uloa would inflict serious loss on our ships if they came close enough for a bombardment.”

  “No, sir, not a naval bombardment. I propose … I respectfully suggest that we relocate … bring some of the larger cannon ashore, at least the thirty-two pounders. My men can dig them into gun pits alongside the army’s guns. The men are already accustomed to hauling equipment by hand. With the navy’s help, we could create a formidable artillery force. Sir.”

  Lee sat down slowly, felt himself sweating, waited for someone to speak, but there was silence. Scott still watched him, stared at him for a long moment, and Lee felt the gaze, was suddenly self-conscious, looked down, flexed his fingers, thought, Well, I thought it was a good idea.

  Scott slapped his hand down on the small table, said, “Let’s give it a try, Captain. I will make arrangements with Commodore Conner. You will have all the armament and manpower you require.”

  Scott looked at Totten. “Colonel, you stand by your engineer?”

  Totten nodded slowly, looked at Lee, said, “Absolutely, sir.”

  “Good. Captain, I like men who have enough of a brain to come up with helpful suggestions. I already have enough complaints. You will command the placement of the naval guns yourself. Once they’re in place, you will notify me.”

  Lee felt his heart thump, tried to speak, felt his throat tighten, fought it, said in a rough croak, “Yes, sir.”

  Scott stood, and the meeting was over. The commanders were quickly up, moving away without a word. Around Lee, the other staff began to gather, murmuring, and Lee felt a hand on his shoulder, a brief pat, and then another. He saw smiling faces, Johnston, even the young Scott, and finally Totten smiled, said, “Well done, Captain. You may have a talent for m
aking powerful friends. But be careful. Not everyone appreciates a junior officer who catches the general’s eye.”

  MARCH TWENTY-SECOND

  The navy had responded with surprising enthusiasm, sailors dragging their guns through the brush as the army crews had before them. Even the ranking naval officers understood that Lee was in command, and older men accustomed to their absolute authority on the great ships followed his instructions. The sailors strained and groaned as the army crews had, placing their guns throughout Lee’s batteries, and the awful assaults of the fleas did not slow the work. To the sailors, the work was something new, shovels and sand, and to the soldiers, it afforded them a new kind of camaraderie and competition—the navy men not merely transportation workers, but fighters as well.

  Lee watched as the huge gun barrel was lowered by block and tackle, setting the massive iron down on a makeshift gun carriage. The barrel settled heavily, the timbers below groaning, and now the crew swarmed over the gun, lashing the barrel to the thick wood, while more men with shovels began to move the sand again, close around the gun pit, erecting a small round wall. Lee had given the instructions once, did not have to repeat himself, the sailors tackling the dirty work with a glee that made him smile. The gun firmly in place, he looked out toward the dunes, knew another was coming, the last of this battery. Very soon, he thought. We are almost ready.